


A Surprise in Gascony

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Takes place before d'Artagnan ever came to Paris to become a Musketeer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a stand alone.</p><p>See notes below.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Surprise in Gascony

_Outside of Lupiac, Gascony_

“Merde!… Nom de Dieu!” Athos swore viciously, cradling his right arm close to his chest. He couldn’t believe he had made such a rookie mistake, getting caught with his pants down. “Fils de pute!" His arm was killing him so.

++++

_An hour earlier_

On a lone mission to deliver a package of vital importance for His Majesty and Richelieu, his journey took Athos through parts of Gascony. Delivering it successfully without trouble along the way, Athos took rest overnight at a small inn he encountered on his way back.

The next day found Athos en route back to Paris once more and the comradery of his brothers Porthos and Aramis. He could hear them now whispering in his ear that it wasn’t fair that Athos hadn’t run into any maladrins during his assignment. Because the last time, Athos remembered, both of his friends had nearly come to a nasty end on their own prior missions.

Seeing as Athos had gotten off easy this time around, he’d treat his brothers to drinks at The Wren when he eventually arrived back home.

Passing through several bastides nested amidst green rolling hills, Athos drank in the beauty of the landscape. With the occasional distant views of the snow-capped Pyrenees mountain range in the background, he felt like being in another world. The peace and quiet Athos currently enjoyed certainly was a far cry from the noisy, smelly streets of Paris.

Caught up in his own thoughts Athos grew careless, relaxing his guard while breathing in the clean, fresh air of his surroundings. He should have known better that his peace wouldn’t last long as three malandrins suddenly dropped down in front of him. Looking upward, Athos saw two more jumping down from the huge tree he was passing.

So much for enjoying the scenery Athos thought sourly and that was just when Roger took exception to the interruption of his day by rearing up and throwing him off. It took Athos by complete surprise because Roger was trained to not rattle so easily having been in several campaigns since Athos had joined the Musketeers… not so today to his regret.

Feeling himself falling out of his saddle, Athos had nothing to grab onto on his way down to the hard ground. When he landed awkwardly on his right arm, Athos heard the sickening sound of bones cracking. Screaming in agony he lost consciousness.

When the maladrins gathered around the still form, it was then they noticed the man’s pauldron on his shoulder. Realizing their attack brought down a Musketeer they didn’t linger for long. Quickly searching the body for anything of value they could use, they mounted their own horses and left the man lying in the dirt.

++++

_Present_

Having come to his senses, Athos whistled for Roger as he scoured the area for his horse. Hearing the soft snickers of his mount Athos spotted Roger standing in a field of wild flowers. "I get a bed of dirt while you languish amidst flowers," Athos complained. Where was the justice in that?

Re-mounting proved difficult in the extreme, and by the time Athos got precariously back in the saddle he was sweating profusely and cursing a blue streak again. “Sacrebleu!”

Making a decision to get his arm taken care of now for the pain was severe, even though it would prolong his journey home, he set Roger on the path leading to Lupiac.

++++

_The d’Artagnan family farm_

Both father and son had been working the fields with several of their retainers when they all decided to take a break from the heat of the day.

Dipping a ladle into a bucket of cool water Charles had drawn from the well, Alexandre drank deeply. “Ah!” he smacked his lips together. “That tasted delicious.” Watching his young son tip the ladle over his head, Alexandre laughed. “That’s a way to cool that Gascon temper of yours, mon garcon.”

Lifting his face toward the sun’s rays, Charles shook his head like a puppy spraying droplets of water all over Heraut and Loeis who were standing close to him. “Apologies,” he grinned, not sorry at all really.

"I know tis hot out, Charles," Loeis wiped his sleeve across his face, "but I wasn't planning on getting a bath just yet."

"Nor I," Heraut agreed glancing over at d'Artagnan senior who appeared more amused by what his son did instead of taking him to task over it.

"We still have the right corner of that field left to plow," Alexandre announced to his men. "But tis too hot for it now."

"We could finish it later when the heat of the day is not so bad," Charles, this time, took a sip of the cool liquid instead of using it to bathe in.

"That's what we'll do then," Alexandre agreed and went over to tell Jasque and Robert to break for the time being.

Nudging Charles in the shoulder, Heraut pointed off in the distance at a lone rider coming in their direction. "Company's coming it would seem."

Seventeen year old Charles' eyes were sharp and even at this distance the man's pauldron starkly stood out to his young eyes. "Musketeer," he whispered. Wondering what one of the king's elite soldiers was doing here in Lupiac. Pushing those thoughts aside, Charles took note of how the stranger was holding his right arm and knew he was injured in some manner.

Running toward him, Charles met the Musketeer halfway on the path leading to their home. He grabbed hold of the horses' reins to slow the animal down."Adiu, Monsieur. You are injured?" It was more of a statement than a question and Charles waited for the soldier's reply.

Grinding his teeth together, Athos jerked his head up and down. He let the boy lead Roger toward the well where several other men stood watching their approach. Fearing if he opened his mouth at this point, Athos figured he'd scare the lad with his acid tongue. For he was not in a good mood to say the least.

When they neared the homestead, Charlies reached up to help steady the Musketeer as the older man dismounted.

Grunting in pain, Athos managed to remember his manners. "Merci, garcon."

"How are you injured?" Charles could clearly see the Musketeer was in a great deal of pain.

"I was attacked by several malandrins en route to Paris and ended up with a broken limb," Athos snarled in disgust. Though the disgust was aimed mostly at himself and knew the lad wouldn't know that; Athos had no intention of correcting the impression.

"Papa could set that arm for you, Monsieur," Charles offered the soldier a sympathetic smile.

"Your pere is a physician then, child?" Athos arched an elegant eyebrow. He nearly snorted noting the lad's distaste at being considered a child. Any minute now Athos readied himself to be treated to the youngster sticking out his tongue at him.

Shaking his head, Charles said, "Non, but papa's had plenty of practice when he served in the wars of religion as a volunteer."

Ruffling the lad's hair, Loeis who had been listening into the exchange added, "Also, Monsieur d'Artagnan has had to set Charles' arm when our young one here's gone and busted it."

"I am relieved to hear that I will be in more than capable hands," Athos bowed his head. "For I am not in the best of shape to secure a physician for myself," he held out his left hand to the boy. "I am Athos of the king's Musketeers," his lips twisted, "but I can see you already knew that." Athos was somewhat amused at how the child's eyes hardly ever strayed from his pauldron, giving the fact away as to his profession.

Vigorously nodding his head, Charles' grin broadened for he immediately recognized the Musketeer's name but didn't tell him so. "I beg papa all the time to tell me more stories of when he served in the wars and my godfather too whenever he comes to visit. They served together for a time." Taking the Musketeer's hand Charles shook it. "I'm Charles d'Artagnan." After making his introduction he called out to his father. "Papa, this is Athos and he's a Musketeer."

Taking Athos hand, Alexandre smiled into the deep blue eyes of the soldier. So this is the man Jean-Armand calls his lieutenant. There's a bone deep sadness in the man's eyes. It would seem that Athos thought to lose himself in the king's regiment over something no doubt in Athos' past. "Just call me Alexandre." He led the other man toward his home. "We'll ply you with some of our Armagnac brandy Gascony is known for. It will help to fortify you before I set that arm."

He detected a thick Bearnais accent from the elder d'Artagnan but his son's wasn't as strong. Greatly relieved to hear the offer of brandy, Athos had to admit he was pretty parched. While on duty he never thought to indulge but when off duty all bets were off. Sometimes it took Aramis and Porthos an entire night to find whatever tavern Athos could lose himself and his memories in.

"Then if you still feel up to it later you may join us for dinner," Alexandre smiled. "My wife, Francoise, makes an excellent table."

"I probably shouldn't," Athos responded not ungratefully. "Tis a long journey back to Paris and I have delayed long enough as it is."

"Nonsense," Alexandre wouldn't hear of it. "You have to accept our hospitality for at least a few days before heading back home. "I'm sure your captain would agree with me." I know for a fact Jean-Armand would, he acknowledged to himself. But for some reason Alexandre didn't want to divulge that information right away.

"You've convinced me," Athos nodded. Then he followed Alexandre into the house. As soon as he stepped inside Athos smelled the delicious aroma of something cooking.

"We're having pot roast," Charles beamed. "My favorite." He was about to go find his mother when he realized Athos' horse needed cared for. "I nearly forgot about your mount. I will take care of him for you."

"Roger has a temper and if not handled properly you could end up injured yourself," Athos warned. "I'm usually the only one that can handle him," he frowned. "I would not see you hurt."

Pointedly staring at the Musketeer's arm, Charles arched a brow. "If you're thinking of doing it yourself, I doubt you'd get very far like that."

"All right," Athos sighed. "But take great care and don't turn your back on him." All he needed was to repay these kind people with an injury to their son.

"I'm good with most animals," Charles shyly admitted. "But I excel with horses." Then he left the astounded soldier behind and ran outside.

"Was that merely hopeful boasting?" Athos turned amused eyes on Alexandre.

"Non," Alexandre smiled. "Charles can work miracles with the beasts. Your Roger is in good hands."

Well if the father wasn't worried why should he be. Following Alexandre upstairs into one of the bedrooms, he settled himself onto one of the beds.

"Here, have some of that brandy I mentioned," Alexandre handed Athos a full glass. Waiting for the younger man to finish his drink, he put it aside. "Ready?"

"Non," Athos shrugged, "but go ahead anyway." Bracing himself against the pain, he bit his lips until they bled. There was no way he would scare this man's wife or son from hearing his cries. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his breathing was ragged but he hadn't passed out yet. The brandy he had been given numbed the pain considerably and he was glad for it.

When Alexandre finished, he had a sling prepared for Athos' arm. "You did better than I or Charles when we had our bones set."

"I would imagine there are quite a few hazards working a farm," Athos noted the other man's lips twitch.

"Oh you don't know the half of it," Alexandre huffed. "Then there's my son whose dearest wish is to become a Musketeer," he hung his head. "Keeps things a might lively around here."

"I could only imagine," Athos drawled. Then hearing a feminine voice hollering up the stairs, Athos cocked his head to the side as he gazed at Alexandre. "Your wife?"

"Dinner is ready," he helped Athos stand up. "After you have eaten then you may take your rest."

"I don't know how to repay your kindnesses to me," Athos dug into his pocket and pulled out a pouch, "except to give you this." He placed it in Alexandre's hand, closing the others fingers over it. "Please do not turn my gratitude away. Tis little enough but I'm sure it can be put to good use."

Placing a hand on Athos' left shoulder, Alexandre squeezed gently. "You are a good man. Merci."

++++

Sitting at the table, Athos was introduced to Alexandre's wife. Francoise insisted they would not stand on ceremony in her house and insisted he call her by her first name. Then catching the youngster sneaking glances at him every so often Athos asked, "Charles, how fared you with Roger?"

"Are you sure you weren't putting me on?" Charles dug into his roast with gusto. "Roger was an absolute angel for me. No trouble at all."

Nearly choking on a piece of pot roast, Athos glared at the child. "Angel? Are we talking about the same horse?"

"Oui," Charles laughed. "Quite docile if you ask me," he teased.

After that Francoise plied Athos with a multitude of questions about life in Paris. What were the fashions of the day? What was the queen wearing? It went steadily on from there.

"Francoise, he's a soldier," Alexandre was mildly exasperated with his wife. "I doubt Athos takes time out to note women's fashions," he chuckled at the small pout on her face. "Now you look like Charles."

"Hey!" Charles scowled at his father.

"Can I help it if you were and sometimes still are an enfant terrible," Alexandre lightly teased his son.

Enjoying this time with them, Athos sat back and listened to the innocent by-play between the family members. You could feel the love they had for one another. It had been a very long time for Athos ever being part of a family unit, not since his days as a garcon himself at la Fere. Even back then his parents never interacted with each other that he could recollect. Less alone conversed at the dining table.

Then there was the d'Artagnan's son, Charles. He was so full of youthful energy that it hurt for Athos to simply look at the lad. He was not yet touched by tragedy and Athos prayed that Charles could retain his innocent outlook on life for as long as he could.

When dinner was over, Athos enjoyed another glass of brandy with Alexandre before turning in. "You have a fine family life here."

"I can honestly say that I'm a content man," Alexandre sipped on his own brandy. "My major complaint these days are our taxes. If they go any higher some of my neighbors may lose their livelihoods," he sighed, staring down into his drink. "We are mainly a farming community. But there are a great many vineyards as well."

"I have heard something similar from my Captain Treville," Athos said. "He is from Gascony too."

"I know," Alexandre noted the surprise register on Athos' face then but he didn't say anything further.

It shouldn't have come as a shock to Athos that Alexandre knew the captain was from here. Still, there was an odd look in the older man's eyes as if he knew something that Athos didn't.

"Tis a shame you won't be here to come into town with us later in the week when we go to the village market. There's always an array of delicious seasonal fruits and vegetables, wild honey, along with a vast range of our locally produced meats, breads, and cheeses," then Alexandre laughed. "Our country wines and liqueurs too of course."

"You make my mouth water," Athos grinned. "Alas, if I probably did that I'd be laden down with so many goods that Roger wouldn't be able to put one hoof in front of the other."

"Athos," Charles came up to him, "could you tell me more about what it's like to be a Musketeer?"

"Son," Alexandre's tone was hard, "I believe you plied the man with more than enough questions during dinner. Let him rest."

"Perhaps tomorrow," Charles resigned himself to having to wait another day. "I will turn in then," he gazed at Athos for a moment. "Bone nueit."

"I think I will follow you, Charles." Turning to face Alexandre, Athos bowed his head. "Merci again for the hospitality you and your family have shown me."

"Get a good night's sleep, Athos, and be careful of that arm." Alexandre watched the younger man go up the stairs with Charles and then he went into his den to look over some ledgers.

++++

_Next day, after breakfast_

"Athos," Francoise came over to the young man's side. "Before you leave us I will give you a balm that has miraculous healing properties on any wound that doesn't reach the heart," she gave Athos a cheery smile. "Tis a recipe that's been in my family for as long as I can remember."

"My friend Aramis would greatly love to know the ingredients of such a balm," Athos said, knowing it to be true. "He is our resident marksman and medic."

"Then I will give you the recipe as well to give to this Aramis." Francoise nodded toward a chair by an open window. "You'll get a nice breeze if you sit over there."

"I think I'll take my chances outside," Athos smiled into her kind eyes and watched her scurry off to do whatever it is she had on her agenda for the day. For he was sure there was plenty of work for Francoise to get buried in.

So when he strolled outside, Athos walked around the farm taking in the amount of acreage the d'Artagnan's owned. It was considerable. He could tell how much labor went into keeping the land up. Wishing that he could ease this family's burdens over the tax situation, Athos inwardly snickered to himself. As if the king would listen to him about taxes. That was a joke in itself.

His thoughts were interrupted when Athos heard the sounds of steel clashing on steel. A sound he was all too familiar with. Wishing he had his weapons on him, Athos thought someone was being attacked. Even though his right arm was useless for the time being, Athos was just as good with his left. He ran around the house where the sounds got louder and abruptly came to a halt at the scene in front of him.

It was the d'Artagnans, father and son, sparring with swords. Athos was flabbergasted at the speed and agility of the youth. There was raw, untapped talent in the lad that showed great promise if someone could take Charles in hand and hone the youngster's skills further.

Thinking upon Alexandre's earlier words of Charles wish to become a Musketeer, Athos thought twas a shame that it may never come to pass. He couldn't imagine that Alexandre could afford to lose Charles' help on a farm of this size. Oh, oui, the man had retainers but one had to take into account accidents that could happen and leave him shorthanded, plus there were so many other things to take into consideration.

Hating to see that bright shining light in the pup's eyes diminish as Charles saw his dreams dying before him, Athos was glad that he wouldn't be around to witness it when it happened.

Seeing that they now had an audience of one, Alexandre motioned to Charles to turn around.

When Charles noted that it was Athos watching him, he blanched. Figuring his poor skills wouldn't come up to snuff with the soldier and was embarrassed to be seen in a poor light.

"How long have you been training, Charles?" Athos joined the pair and watched as a blush rose high on the child's cheeks.

"Since about the age of eight," Charles admitted, waiting for Athos to tear apart what he had been witness too.

"You've taught him well, Alexandre." Seeing the older man bow before him, Athos' lips formed a semblance of a smile.

"Oh I can't take all the credit," Alexandre winked at his son. "Charles' godfather had a hand in it as well."

"Bien," Athos shrugged, "you both have done well then." He turned to look at Charles again. "I will be leaving on the morrow, but before I go I would like to give you some pointers if I may?"

"Boy, would I!" Charles exclaimed. "You honestly don't mind?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I did." Athos then set about telling the lad about his form. "When you lunge make sure you extend the front leg by using a slight kicking motion to propel your body forward with your back leg." And so it went on for at least an hour as Athos imparted as much knowledge as he could to the pup. "I know your father taught you well, but remember fencing boils down to two areas... your footwork and managing your weapon," Athos' blue eyes pierced the dark ones of Charles'. "If you remember the latter well you'll be a force to reckon with when you get older."

As all things do, the lessons had come to an end for Charles had chores to do around the farm. "Merci for all your help, Athos," he practically vibrated with excitement. Even though his godfather was the captain of the Musketeers and had helped school him in the art of fencing, it couldn't compare to being taught by France's finest swordsman.

"Tis my pleasure, Charles." Watching the youngster rush off toward the barn, Athos smiled to himself. The rest of his day passed much as the day before and it was soon he found himself once more in bed trying not to re-injure his arm as he laid down. Morning couldn't come too soon for him. Nice as this was, Athos missed his brothers and Paris.

++++

_Next day_

"Merci, Francoise for the balm," Athos' bent low over her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon it. "Aramis will make good use of this I'm sure."

"You are quite welcome," her eyes held nothing but kindness toward him. "Take care on the road home, Athos."

Alexandre drew Athos in for a manly hug and tried not to crush the soldier's injured limb. "I'd say don't be a stranger, but knowing the life you lead I doubt you'll have much time to come back for a visit."

"I could always bother my captain for some extra leave," Athos smirked. "You never know I may dog your doorstep when you least expect it."

"I'll look forward to that day and echo Francoise's words," Alexandre's eyes twinkled. "Stay safe, mon ami."

Lastly he faced Charles. Athos noted a look of amusement crossing the lad's face. "Something I should be apprised of?" his brow arched.

"You never once asked me who my godfather was?" Charles' gaze lingered on the older man's curious eyes. "Tis your own Captain Treville," he snorted. Seeing the look of shock that crossed Athos' features, Charles let out a snuff of laughter. "We knew who you were the minute you told us your name. Jean-Armand was always telling us stories of his _inseparable_ s and especially how proud he was of you whenever he came back for visits."

"Jean-Armand had been our neighbor before leaving to make his fortune in Paris," Alexandre added. "Give him our regards when next you see him."

"You will be sure I will," he shook his head, still stunned at the news. "No one ever said," Athos looked between the two men, a little annoyed at himself that he never had bothered asking in the first place. "No wonder your skill is such as it is for your age." Athos held up a finger and looked sternly at the lad. "Charles, if by your eighteenth year I do not see you at the Musketeer garrison I will make it my business to drag you there myself," he huffed. "We can't have all that hard work put into you by your pere and Treville go to waste."

Stunned at Athos' words, Charles could only nod dumbfounded as he watched the soldier mount Roger and wave goodbye to them all. Finding his voice he yelled out, "Bon biadje!"

Acknowledging the lad's words with another wave of his hand, Athos turned Roger onto the path leading back to Paris. Making a silent vow, Athos decided that he would mentor the pup himself. To do so he would need to be at his best and most importantly... sober. Cutting back on his drinking would be number one on his list of things to do. His brothers wouldn't know what got into him, but Athos wanted and _would be_ the type of man worthy for this child of Gascony.

++++

Notes:

Translations:  
merde (you should already know by now) - shit  
nom de Dieu - God damn it  
fils de pute - son of a bitch  
sacrebleu - dammit  
bastides (small towns or villages)  
enfant terrible - terrible infant  
bonne nuit - good night  
adiu - Gascon for welcome/hello  
merci - (you should already know this one too) - thank you  
bone nueit - Gascon for goodnight  
bon biadje - gascon for have a good journey  
mon garcon - my boy  
mon ami- my friend  


Bearnais is recognized as a dialect of the province Bearn in south-west France in the Pyrenees-Atlantiques. Considered to be a local variant of the Gascon dialect.

Wars of religion - between the Catholics and Protestants which racked France throughout the sixteenth century.


End file.
